


Laughing With Fools At You

by retts



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: kinkme_merlin, Homophobia, M/M, POV Second Person, Self-Denial, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/21103.html?thread=21491055#t21491055">this</a> Kinkme prompt: extreme homophobia in modern times.</p><p> </p><p><i>then one day, just any other day, you find yourself looking at arthur pendragon, and in that second glance, your breath catches because really, pendragon is a prat, he is, but then -- </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughing With Fools At You

you see what they do to faggots in films and in the telly. they get beat up. they are rejected. they are pathetic caricatures of unhappy, lonely people. you shake your head when you see this, think, _i am a progressive, open-minded person. homophobia is disgusting._

then one day, just any other day, you find yourself looking at arthur pendragon, and in that second glance, your breath catches because really, pendragon is a prat, he is, but then --

pendragon is laughing at something his mate says, hand raking his fringe off his forehead. his eyes crinkle at the corners when he does so. he is striding down the corridor as if he owns it, easy, almost lazy arrogance in every step he takes. suddenly the objectivity you feel when you look at him and muse, _yeah, he's an attractive bloke, i suppose_ , feels more like an intimate observation. pendragon passes you by and for just one second, your eyes lock together. pendragon's eyes widen a fraction, and then he's looking away, passing you by. leaving you to lean against your locker, heart trying to burst through your ribcage, feeling as if your world has gone arse over tit. your dick presses insistently against the zip of your trousers, wanting, demanding.

 _it's a fluke_ , you manage to convince yourself for the next few hours. your hands tremble, fluttering through your hair because they just might travel further south. out here in the open. _i'm not really like that. it's not homophobia or anything -- i'm just not --_

 

 

in maths class, you sit behind pendragon. you try to concentrate on the teacher's lecture because it's important for your future. you know this but all you can do is stare at the golden head in front of you. pendragon's hair is ridiculously shiny, probably silky-soft to touch, and your fingers twitch around your pencil.

you've never really bothered with pendragon before. he's a twat and you two live completely different lives. once or twice you might exchange insults with him, but it's always in a manly fashion that almost seems like friendship. you've known him for half of your life. it shouldn't feel as if you're just seeing him now, just learning his shape and size and existence.

you nibble on the rubber and you focus on the disgusting taste, because otherwise you might do something foolish in front of everyone.

just then, pendragon turns around in his seat and gives you an irritated look. 'what is it, emrys?' he asks, one eyebrow arched imperiously.

you pop the pencil out of your mouth. your pulse races. 'what is what?' you reply after a beat, voice a little weak at first, then gaining confidence as you add, 'do you need something, pratdragon?'

pendragon scowls. 'you've been staring at the back of my head. do you fancy me or something?'

 _fuck._ you drop your hands on your lap where he won't see them trembling all of a sudden. 'god, your ego is as big as your head, which is very big, i might say, because i can't see around it.'

the scowl on pendragon's face deepens and he gives you one last glare before turning away. his shoulders are tense and the back of his neck is flushed. abruptly, you ache to run your tongue over that stripe of golden skin.

 _fuck_ , you think again.

 

 

somehow, you end up asking girls out more often than usual. they're pretty and they all say yes. you have a good time with all of them -- there are kisses, hand-holding, all wholesome, normal gestures -- and when it doesn't work out, well, you're still friends because merlin emrys? he's a sweetheart.

will teases you for becoming a lady killer. he's proud of you. claps you on the shoulder and says, 'i was getting worried, mate. thought you'd never have a girlfriend. now you have girls queuing to be with you!'

you smile weakly, laugh when will laughs. you joke about your own hopelessness with the ladies, how it’s a thing of the past. will is a great friend. he’s your best friend. ‘well, i am awesome at this dating shit,’ you tell him, grinning a bright, fake smile. (you can’t tell him how, when you’re distracted or bored, you find your eyes drifting to pendragon across the room, cataloguing his features and making epic poetry about the colour of his eyes or those crooked front teeth. you can’t tell him how a glimpse of blond hair makes your heart pound, your head turn instinctively to see if it is pendragon. you can’t tell him how a single fucking moment changed your life.)

your friends aren’t the only ones who notice, though. pendragon, the very last person you want paying you attention, no matter how much your stomach gives a funny little flip when he does, starts shouting things at you. things like:

 _oi, emrys, i thought you were queer. trying to cover it up?_

 _bloody hell, emrys, i love it when two girls snog!_

emrys, says arthur in his jeering, hateful, lovely voice, and all you hear for the next few days is, _emrys. emrys. emrys_ , in a sweet affectionate tone that brings you closer to a nervous breakdown.

 

 

it’s a wet, miserable tuesday when you hear the news: cedric spectacularly comes out of the closet by kissing his boyfriend, a boy from a different sixth form, in front of everyone in the car park this morning.

you have cedric in a few of your classes. you, along with everyone else, stare at him while the teachers drone on, heedless of this news that has become the most important thing in the world at the moment. cedric keeps his head high all day, though you notice how his knuckles tighten around his books when people whisper in loud voices, as they sneer when he passes by. you feel something tight in your chest, honesty or horror or fear churning every time you catch a glimpse of his face. you can’t look for too long, because what if he returns your gaze and people get the wrong idea? what if he realises the frightful desires lurking underneath your skin?

school is over when someone finally makes a move. you don’t actually see what happens but you can hear cedric’s pained grunts and the sound of flesh slamming into the lockers. you hear the reproachful murmurs of the crowd and yet see the approving gleam in their eyes.

homophobia is the new racism. it’s become a habit, like biting your nails or adopting a phrase you use every other sentence. you deny and insist you’re not one, you’re kind and decent, and yet you do nothing to stop someone more unabashedly homophobic than you from kicking cedric’s ribs to ruin. you can only stand there and think: _thank god it’s not me. that will never be me._

 

 

that night, you dream of kissing pendragon. sucking his cock with a bruised, bloodied mouth as he holds your head in place. you love it, the taste and scent and weight of something you’ve never had thrusting on top of your tongue. choking you. and when you wake up, you are so hard it only takes a few strokes before you’re coming, arching off the bed in blind, free ecstasy.

 

 

‘i heard mrs wilson’s son is suspended after he put one of your friends in the hospital!’ your mum gossips as she sits across from you, sipping tea and watching you eat with wide, worried eyes, as if it will be you next.

you don’t look at her as you mutter, ‘cedric’s not one of my friends. he deserves it anyway, for being a bloody shirt-lifter.’

‘merlin!’ your mother sounds appalled. ‘don’t say that! nobody deserves to be hurt for who they are -- ’

something tugs at your chest. your eyes fill with tears and you heroically blink them away. ‘i have to go, mum. thanks for breakfast,’ and you leave, still not meeting her eyes, afraid of what they’ll give away if you do.

 

 

your chemistry partner is apparently at home with the flu and the kind gods above -- that is, mr gary -- decides to pair you with pendragon, who is also without a partner. imagine that. you're sucking on the inside of your cheek, tapping your pencil restlessly against the corner of the table. pendragon comes over and drops on the stool next to yours. he gives you a strange look as you continue to fidget.

'alright,' you hear yourself say, 'alright, let's get this over with.'

'your enthusiasm is contagious,' snorts pendragon, rolling his eyes. he opens his book to the right page, reads the instructions on the board and starts giving orders like he was born just to boss you around. you should argue, put up a fight, show him you're no one's servant. but then, that would involve having to look at him, at his stupid face and shiny hair, and you just don't want to.

so instead, you silently do what he tells you. 'get that beaker, emrys,' commands pendragon, tone condescending. 'turn on the flame, emrys. pour the chemical in, emrys.'

you keep your eyes on what you're doing, keep your thoughts carefully in check. you don't want to go and think of something stupid, like, _he sounds hot when he's ordering me around in that posh voice_ , and wondering what it will be like if he tells you to _go down on your knees, emrys. crawl forward. that's it -- take my cock in your mouth. you like that, don't you? slowly. deeper. deeper. emrys –_

he sounds amused now as he says, voice pitched low and suddenly much closer than before, 'you're such a good boy, aren't you, emrys? so very eager to obey. do you like it when someone orders you around? or maybe it's just me? god, i bet you're a little cocksucker, aren't you? aren't you, _mer_ lin?'

startled, you look up at him, face burning with humiliation and arousal. whatever pendragon expects to see, it's not that. he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes opening wide even as his pupils dilate. faint colour blooms on his cheeks and his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. you unconsciously mirror the action, your gazes locked together. you can barely hear anything past the rushing in your ears.

and then, and then, pendragon is swaying forward, closer, closer --

mr gary snaps, 'pendragon, emrys, what are you two doing? pay attention to your work or i'll give both of you detention. yes, mr pendragon, even if it means you'll miss football practice this afternoon.'

 

 

the library is the only place you can think of where no one will disturb you. nobody wants to irritate librarian monmouth.

you are trying to study but you're really just reliving what happened earlier in chemistry over and over again like some sort of creep. you cross and uncross your legs, erection heavy between them, and with a frustrated little noise in the back of your throat, you press your face down on your book.

god. why is this happening to you? what the fuck is this? you're straight. you're a good boy. you like tits and arse. you're not -- not that. gay, whatever. you don't have a problem if someone is gay. just, you're not one. you suppose everyone goes through this crap at some point in their lives. but you're sure it's just a phase, right, because you really are not queer. pendragon is just an anomaly.

it's then that pendragon appears. bloody fantastic. _thinking of pendragon summons him now_ , you think, glaring darkly at him.

the other boy doesn't notice your animosity, or if he does, he doesn't care about it because he sits right in front of you. his head is lowered, so you can't see his face all that well, but when he angles it somewhat to the right then you notice how he's biting his lower lip. the sight gets you a little hot and bothered, but it also makes you sit up, look at pendragon more closely.

there's something uncertain in his posture. his shoulders are hunched up in a clear imitation of yours when you're feeling cornered. vulnerable. his fingers grip the edge of the table tightly. pendragon's normal-sized ears peak through the fall of his hair, the tips bright pink.

a different sort of heat unfurls in your chest, makes you gasp audibly that he looks up at the sound, cheeks rosy, eyes pleading.

you don't pretend not to know what he's asking you. it's madness, this. there should be nothing between you but silly friendship or rivalry or whatever else there is. you're straight and so is he. you can't think that he wants you to kiss him, reach out for him, because he's too scared to do it himself. you can't think that you're scared, yeah, fucking terrified, but not like pendragon is, not so much that you can't inch your hand across the table and brush your fingers over his knuckles.

his hand shifts, fingers uncurling until you are loosely holding hands. his palm is a bit sweaty but warm, callouses on the pads of his fingers. his thumb swipes across the longest line on your palm, ticklish, and you swear your heart skips a beat. you can't think of anything but the feel of his hand in yours, the grateful look in his eyes, the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows, opens his mouth to say, 'emrys, i. that is, you're -- '

the sound of footfalls stop him short. you pull apart as if burnt. someone passes by your table, ignoring the way you and pendragon are breathing just a little too fast. the intruder disappears round a bookshelf.

pendragon gives you a wide-eyed look. then he shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and says, 'not here, merlin. let's go somewhere more -- more private, yeah? merlin?'

and you shouldn't. you know that. what if someone finds out? what if this is all a horrible prank and pendragon will snap photos and show them to the school? you will be like cedric, curled on the floor as some asshole hits you, hurts you, kills you little by little.

 _what if this is your only chance?_ a tinny voice in your head speaks, agonised, and you clench your hands over your lap.

'merlin. merlin,' whispers pendragon, 'merlin?'

'alright, arthur,' you exhale.

 

 

the loo in the third floor is always mostly empty. it's tucked at the end of the building and no one bothers with it.

you find yourself pressed against the inside of a stall, arthur crowding into your personal space with his lips on yours and hands slipping under your shirt. you pant against his open mouth, tongue invading the wet cavern until arthur's own tongue comes out to play. you moan softly when his fingers find your nipples, tweaking and twisting and sending bolts of pleasure down to your groin. this isn't like the snogging you've done with girls before. fuck, no. this is fast and hard and hot. this is arthur pendragon with his mouth plundering yours, possessively, and it's his arse you are cupping to bring him even closer.

you don't think but only feel. feel how arthur is rubbing against you like a common whore, how easy it is to drag your nails down the slick skin of his back. you bite down on arthur's lip, hard, and he gasps and whimpers and squirms. you break away for air, panting on top of arthur's head as he ducks down and nibbles down your neck, little swipes of tongue now and then. you grip his hair, other hand pawing at his trousers.

'god yes, please,' arthur brings his head up, murmurs against your cheek, breathless. 'merlin, i want, merlin -- '

'yeah,' you utter, hoarse-voiced, hand slipping inside arthur's trousers and boxers, curling around warm, hard flesh. your heart is wild in your chest and your thoughts skitter in a million directions as you start stroking, slowly, the way you like to do to yourself. arthur makes a choking sound, buries his face in your neck. places a soft kiss there. 'yeah,' and you flick your wrist in an artful move, eliciting a gasp, a moan. 'yeah,' you keep on saying, head thrown back against the door, eyes staring blindly at the bulb over your heads.

'merlin,' he cries. you close your eyes and soak in the sounds he makes, the way he thrusts into your fist, the way he clings to you. you feed off his warmth, his solid body so heavy against yours. god. it's -- it's wonderful and new and right and perfect and forbidden that you can't help but cry a little, biting down on your lip as you wank arthur in the gent's where anyone can walk in and find you out. and in that moment, crystal clear and precise, you don't care because as you finally look down at arthur, you see that he is beautiful, eyes shut and jaw slack in pleasure as he comes because of your fingers.

he's a boy and you're a boy and you might be a little in love with him, you realise as you rest your forehead against his, hand all over come moving to grasp arthur's hip as an anchor as you free fall down, down, down.

 

 

later, it is all predictable:

'this never happened, you hear me, emrys?' threatens arthur, or tries to, but he falls just short of menacing as he tucks himself in his pants. the flush is receding from his face, leaving it as arrogant and distant as it used to be. as it should be.

you are on the floor, legs bent to your chest, head down. 'yeah, whatever,' you mutter into your kneecaps, breathing deeply to keep calm. there is dried come on your fingers, in your briefs. you feel disgusting. you're disgusting.

'i'm not queer,' arthur says seriously above you but you don't look up. 'look -- just, shut up, alright? no one has to know.'

you shut your eyes tight. there's an edge of hysteria in your voice: 'will you just fuck off already?'

with a final, 'i mean it, emrys, do not tell anyone', you hear the stall door open and close, arthur's footsteps receding until they vanish entirely. leaving you there alone, eaten up by guilt and horror, and with a slightly broken heart.

 

 

(much, much later, you visit cedric in the hospital. your new girlfriend, freya, had smiled at you when you told her about your plans. she'd said, 'it's sad how easy it is to hate, to hurt, others. nobody should be so afraid that they have to hide who they are. i'm glad he has a friend like you, merlin.'

but you never do get inside. you merely stand there in front of the closed door, hands trembling, too afraid of what is on the other side.)


End file.
